Your Lover is Drowning
by Jessica Pendragon
Summary: Hawke can no longer hide when Fenris finally finds her at Weisshaupt.


Hawke lurches out of sleep at the sounds of alarm. Somewhere a bell tolls as Wardens yell to one another. Boots trample passed in the hallway outside as she finds her own feet. She grabs for her enchanted rob instead of the usual armor and feels the spells tickle her skin as arms slip inside. Her staff all but pops into her hand, the wood worn and smooth beneath her fingers, before she rockets out into the fortress proper.

Weisshaupt is still a maze after weeks of lodging. Many of the Wardens from Adamant returned with her to the ancient stronghold and yet the corridors feel unused. She latches onto a pair of warriors racing down the halls towards the main gate and peppers them with questions, but they know nothing of what awaits. Thoughts of Darkspawn, Venatori and Red Templars race through her mind and she readies a steady barrier. She finds her veins pulse with the possibility of combat.

Not that it has been boring as of late. Training with the Wardens, rebuilding Weisshaupt and planning missions to help the Inquisition have taken up considerable time, but it's not what Hawke knows best. She knows the heat of battle, the taste of blood and the ache of magic leaping from her skin. No matter how far she runs, or who she tries to be, she can't escape what she has become. It weighs around her heavy and firm, a coat of arms she can never remove.

_Maybe this time…just one mistake..._

"This is your last warning. Identify yourself or we will be forced into action!" a Warden yells from the ramparts as she finally finds herself in the courtyard. A gigantic gate carved with griffons is locked tight before her.

"What is it?" she calls up.

"Champion, there's a lone man but- Maker!" The man's outburst coincides with a strange blue-white flash that materializes through the very fabric of the door. Hawke recognizes it in an instant. A stone of dread plops into her stomach even as her heartstrings vibrate with a sudden relief. Archers on the wall and in the courtyard turn their arrows on the lithe figure that appears, skin on fire and eyes hidden by tangled bangs. A glowing sword is held in a strangling grip. A weapon she gave him.

"Hold!" Hawke shouts and they listen, which still surprises her. But nothing knocks the wind from her as his eyes pierce into her skull. They're too hungry, starving for answers and blood and flesh. His whole body vibrates with a need to lash out at something and she fears it will be the men around her that pay the price of her deceit. "Stand down, Wardens."

They lower their bows, but still keep cautious fingers around fletching. "Do you know this elf, Messere Hawke?" the nearest soldier asks.

"Yes, he's...yes." She's grateful to see the markings on his skin disappear, but she knows this night is far from over. "I'm sorry for causing a scene. I applaud your readiness, but there's no need. Please, go back to your duties."

The Wardens take heed, but too slowly for her tastes. The Champion of Kirkwall beckons her companion to follow and is relieved when his feet move towards her. Hawke turns her back on him, perhaps a hasty decision, but she can't look him in the eye anymore or risks falling to pieces.

As they move into the fortress and through the halls, silent but with all the power of a hurricane building between them, she tries to rehearse what she might say. How can she hide the truth from both of them? He's close enough that she can feel the heat of his skin burning like a star, but he hasn't moved against her yet when there are eyes still watching.

Hawke finds the nearest unoccupied room and holds open the door for him. He sweeps by like a tidal wave. She pauses a moment to glare at the small gathering of Wardens in the hallway and they scatter like roaches in the harsh light of her authority. Whatever comes next, at least there won't be an audience.

She closes the door and turns to face him. "Fenris-"

A blur and a painful jolt force her against the door. She hears her staff clatter to the floor, but can't see anything but his forearm against her throat and green eyes scorching like lightning. She feels the claws of his other hand sharp against her breastbone. Instinct makes her reach to his skin and her magic sets his tattoos burning again. He growls, pressing against her windpipe and she fights to reign in her fear. Power drains from her fingertips and she releases her hold. Fenris' wrath at her leaving was something she thought she was prepared for.

_His touch would be the best way…_

Neither of them speak. All the words she should have said pull like an anchor on her tongue, but she has no right to defend herself. So she waits for his eyes to break or for his hand to rend her heart from her chest. She's not sure which one would be more painful. She deserves this.

"How could you?" He grounds out every syllable as if the effort to speak requires mountainous strength. Hope blossoms within her, a fragile forgotten thing. He would not waste words on lost causes. She finds this knowledge too much, her legs giving out beneath her. The arms that would have ended her quickly move to support as they both tangle together on the floor. She's pressed between the harshness of the wood and the steel of his skin, but she doesn't reach out to embrace him. She folds in upon herself, knees brought close to keep her pain locked away.

"Hawke." His voice is still filled with a current of rage, but a reluctant concern has crept upon the surface of it. It destroys her completely. She meant to give him the revenge he was due, to stand up and face his judgment.

She is too relieved to see him again. She is too ashamed to still be alive.

She knows the moment he finally understands the truth when a sharp breath jerks through him. The prison of his hold becomes a sanctuary, the scorch of his skin a warm poultice against her wounds. "You went there to die," he says, knowing her heart without seeing it in his hand.

She left him on the wings of a lie. It was the only way he would have let her go alone. She promised to return after a visit with her brother and the threat of Carver's company was enough to keep him at bay. Hawke had kissed his soft hair, traced the lyrium lines of his back as he slept, and said goodbye for the last time.

She was supposed to end it. Too many people were dead, their hands wrapped around her ankles and dragging her down with every step she tried to take. Every day she sees their faces and soon began to forget her own. Nights are spent waking up choking on all the blood spilled, feeling herself drowning and gulping for air. She put on a brave face through the Fade with the Inquisitor, but the demon's words had buried beneath her skin. Fenris is the lighthouse standing above it all, reaching out to save her. But fear of pulling him under with her has pressed her lips closed. He's suffered enough.

So she kept it buried inside, digging a hole too large to escape from. There seemed to be only one way out. She knew Fenris would never forgive her, but the weight of her own depression was too much to bear. Kirkwall, her sister, mother. Anders. All the lives brought to ruin in this war and her failure with Corypheus. She couldn't keep her head above the surface anymore. Hawke promised she would never leave him behind, but where she wanted to go she couldn't ask Fenris to follow. Yet when the time came for justice another took her place. Another soul to add to her grievances.

"Hawke," he whispers her name and it is void of vengeance. "I'm so sorry."

A manic laugh bursts from her throat at the very idea. "You can't be serious."

"I took too long to see it. I wore my chains on the outside while yours are forged inside. I thought you would never need me like I needed you. I'm sorry I wasn't there."

Relief and remorse race around in her head and she doesn't know which one to catch. "I did my best to hide it from you. I had to leave before Varric saw too."

"It's no excuse," he explains, anger in his voice renewed, but it is not at her this time. "I failed you."

"Fenris-"

"Look at me, Hawke!" he demands, forcing her face towards his. She obeys like a wilted flower seeking the sun. "You must not shield me from this. I am yours and you are mine. Everything beautiful and pure. Everything wicked and sharp. Your damage is mine, do you understand?"

He breaks through her defenses, pulling her into his lap and molding against her as if he can leech out the darkness. Hawke can hear his heartbeat against her ear and each pulse strengthens her weary soul. Arms wrap around his chest and the numbness begins to fade.

_I am not alone._

"Tell me everything," he begs.

And she does.


End file.
